


and then i'll be nothing forever (it's always been just him and me together)

by grasslandgirl



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, MAG159, Martin Blackwood POV, Martin-centric, References to Depression, Self Isolation, The Lonely - Freeform, get fucked peter lukas 2019, that NEW EPISODE HUH, they're in love and it's canon and you cannot convince me otherwise, this is mostly canon dialogue from 158 and 159, tw for canon-typical suicidal thoughts, tw for depression isolation and vague suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-02 20:50:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21167684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grasslandgirl/pseuds/grasslandgirl
Summary: For the first time in his life, Martin was perfectly alone. He hated how comforting he found it. It was like a quilt, almost, heavy and cold, never quite acclimating to your body heat, but the weight of it was almost… grounding. Holding you down and wrapping you up until you can’t hear or see the world around you, and you close your eyes and sink into the cold darkness of it, and for a second; it’s like the world outside doesn’t even exist.That’s what the Lonely was like.





	and then i'll be nothing forever (it's always been just him and me together)

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! this is my first TMA fic, because i've only just caught up, and BOY what an episode to listen to fresh off the presses for the first time, huh?  
like i said in the tags, this fic is mostly a look into my idea of what martin's time inside the Lonely was like before Jon found him and brought him out, and so i really leaned on the canon information we have dealing with martin's implied depression and self worth ideas, as well as how he specifically mentions in 158 that he didn't really care whether or not he lived. i think that the lonely would really exacerbate these kinds of thoughts and feelings of uselessness and helplessness, so this fic deals very heavily in that, so if you're sensitive to that kind of content PLEASE be careful going forward!  
as i also stated in the tags, a lot of this is pulled from the canon dialogue from the show, so almost none of the dialogue here is actually mine, I just wanted to explore martin's thoughts and feelings over the course of this episode!  
enjoy :)  
(also!! the title is from Me and My Husband by Mitski, cause GOD what a jonmartin song.... christ i made myself sad)

“Funny…” Martin laughed a little, even though it wasn’t funny, not really. Not at all. “Looks like I was right the first time,” he continued, “it’s probably still a good way to get killed.” 

Peter stared at him, shell shocked into silence for the first time Martin could remember. He smiled grimly, if there was only one good thing to come out of all this nonsense with Peter and the Archives and the Lonely, at least there was this. Martin got to surprise Peter Lukas into silence. It was more than a little gratifying. 

“I warned you, Peter,” Elias said smugly, grinning his same old condescending smile down on Peter. 

“But you do serve the Lonely?” Peter asked, almost desperately.

“Oh I’m getting there,” Martin agreed, remembering the quiet comfort of the Lonely’s all-encompassing silence. How it offered to cradle and protect him, dull and buzz out all the pain and hurt from his life- and there was a lot of it. Martin still felt the temptation now, but he fought against it. Thought of Jon, of Daisy, of Basira and Melanie, of Tim and Sasha and all the innocent people still cluelessly working far above their heads. Martin stood his ground. “But, if this is the final test or something? Then bad luck; the answer’s still no.”

“No, no!” Peter cried, wheeling around to stare incredulously at Elias, who was still smiling. Like he knew and anticipated everything. For all Martin knew, he had. “This isn’t fair, do you have _ any _idea what you’ve done?” Peter continued, looking quickly between Martin and Elias in what was quickly becoming a petulant temper tantrum. “You knew, he must have known-” he started, pointing peevishly at Elias.

“Elias- _ Jonah- _had nothing to do with it.” Martin interrupted. 

“No! That’s not- you can’t.” Peter continued, having long since given up listening to Martin.

“You’ve lost, Peter!” Elias gloated, his smile thinning out into a thin, smug line. “Admit it. He played you like a… like a cheap whistle.” 

“No! Shut up!” Peter repeated, swinging his arms widely and almost knocking into Martin.

“Peter.” Elias said, standing his ground firmly. “It’s time.” Martin had heard him use that tone before- when he used to put his foot down with Jon- it meant business. It meant a threat. 

“Fine.” Peter spat. He understood the thinly veiled danger in Elias’s voice as well as Martin did.

“Great. Now perhaps one of you then can tell me-” Martin started to say, but before he could finish, the Panopticon around him fuzzed away into static, Elias and Peter both fading away and out of view. 

“What- wait.” Martin blinked, and he was alone. 

Immediately, he knew where he was. He wasn’t sure whether it was his affiliation with the Lonely, or his experience with Peter, or just that he was a lonely enough soul _ without _an entity’s interference to recognize it. Or maybe it was some combination of the three. But without even having to look around that he was inside the Lonely. It was less of an observable fact, and more a feeling, gentle and omnipresent, that he was alone. Utterly and completely alone, the most isolated he’d ever felt in his life, an insurmountable distance from any other living thing. 

For the first time in his life, Martin was perfectly alone. Left to live in his isolation, surrounded by a slow moving opaque white fog on all sides. He could just barely make out shadows of varying shapes and sizes all around him, as though just beyond the fog was a tree, or a building, or a lamppost. But Martin was sure these shadows would disappear as soon as he tried to wade through the fog to them. That they were nothing more than mirages, taunting him with the promise of something, just out of his reach. Reminding him, over and over again, how truly alone he really was.

Slowly, Martin lowered himself to the ground, closing his eyes against sudden and overwhelming wave of quiet. He hated how comforting he found it. It was like a quilt, almost, heavy and cold, never quite acclimating to your body heat, but the weight of it was almost… grounding. Holding you down and wrapping you up until you can’t hear or see the world around you, and you close your eyes and sink into the cold darkness of it, and for a second; it’s like the world outside doesn’t even _ exist. _

That’s what the Lonely was like. 

Martin pressed his fingers against the ground beneath him. It was cold to the touch, somehow, even though the air around him wasn’t cold. Dirt and dust and tiny pieces of stone, almost like gravel, stuck against his finger tips, and Martin closed his hands, pushing the small sharp rocks up and against his palms. 

He exhaled, long and slow and heavy, and felt the tension left from the confrontation at the Panopticon drain out of his shoulders. The only thing he could hear was the quiet staticky whistle he always associated with Peter. It was almost… peaceful.

Against all odds, Martin felt the rush of panic he’d felt when he first arrived in the Lonely fade away. There wasn’t anything for him to worry about, here. No obligations, no one to protect, no one to fight, nothing to do but sit here, in the near silence, and live with himself. 

_ It’s not like any of them are going to miss me, anyway, _ Martin thought. _ I’ve already pushed all of them away, and in here I can’t be used as some pawn by Peter or Elias or Jonah _ fucking _ Magnus anymore. I can finally just… rest. _

Martin closed his eyes again, and let the gentle fog roll over him, heavy and vaguely cold. He pulled his knees up to his chest and leaned his head on them, curled up and hugging himself like a child. 

Some small part of him wanted to get up, to search the Lonely for some way out, to call out to any one else who might be stuck in there with him. But he knew it was no use. Some part of him always knew this was how he was going to end up- slowly dying, entombed in his own self-inflicted isolation. Martin laughed a little, there was some kind of poetry in that. But not the kind of poetry Martin usually wrote. 

And either way, he hadn’t written anything in a long time. He certainly wasn’t about to start up again.

Then, he was quiet. And quiet static of the Lonely buzzed almost comfortingly in his ear, reminding him over and over again that he was finally alone. 

Martin didn’t know how long he sat there, fingers pressed against the gravel, head on his knees, the fog gently swirling around him as he listened to the ambient static of the Lonely. But suddenly, out of nowhere, he heard a voice.

For a moment, Martin was sure it was his subconscious, or some trick of the Lonely or a wayward Lukas; trying to get him to run pointlessly through the fog, chasing after someone who wasn’t there.

But he heard the voice again, louder and firmer this time. And Martin recognized the voice.

“Martin.” Jon said, and Martin finally raised his head off his knees, blinking out through the fog. Somehow, while he had been sitting there, the fog had gotten more opaque. It looked heavier, almost, and its slow moving curls and waves, caused by some wind that didn’t exist, seemed almost hypnotizing. 

“Jon?” Martin asked, blinking up at the shadowy figure in front of him. It was almost entirely shrouded by the fog, and if Martin didn’t focus, it just faded into another vague shadow in the distance. 

“I’m here, I came for you,” the figure said, and Martin was sure it was Jon’s voice. Only, that didn’t make any sense. Why would Jon come for him? Why would he venture into the Lonely to save Martin? Why would anyone? 

“Why?” 

“I thought you might be lost,” Jon said, gently, his voice echoing and reverberating in the huge expanse of the Lonely.

“Are you real?” Martin asked, because his Jon had never spoken to him so carefully, his Jon wouldn’t have followed him in here. This was the Lonely, after all, there was no way anyone could have found Martin here, even if someone had been looking.

“Yes.” The shadow that might be Jon said firmly, “Yes, I- I am. Come on, we’ve got to get out of here,” he implored, and held out a shadowy hand that moved the fog around it into smaller and smaller swirls. 

“No.” Martin said. “No, I don’t think so.” He was so tired, so tired from a lifetime of caring about the people around him, only to have them walk away from him. Martin was sure this was the Lonely, trying to convince him of something that wasn’t real, only to watch his hopes rise and fall again, for the hundredth time. Martin was so very tired.

“Why?”

“This is where I should be.” Martin said, tilting his head to rest against his knees again. He kept watching the shadowy version of Jon, though, if only for another moment. “It feels right-”

“Martin. Don’t say that.” _ That, _ Martin thought to himself, _ sounds more like my Jon. _

“Nothing hurts here,” Martin said quietly. He wasn’t sure why he kept trying to justify himself. If the shadow was a part of the Lonely, it wouldn’t listen to his justifications. If it was Jon, he wouldn’t care what Martin had to say. “It’s just quiet.” Martin wanted the shadow to go away, he wanted to fade back into the quiet static, almost like waves, and let them wash him away. “Even the fear is gentle here.” 

“This isn’t right- this isn’t you.” Jon argued, as always. 

“It is, though.” Martin didn’t want to argue with him anymore, he didn’t want to do anything anymore. 

“I really loved you, you know?” Martin said.

He’d never said it to Jon before, and despite everything, he didn’t really want to die having never said it. It felt like a fitting last thing to say, and it felt right that Jon- or this shadowy approximation of him, at any rate- should be the last person Martin spoke to. 

“Martin, listen to me,” Jon implored, but his voice was already fading quieter and quieter, getting washed out by the static. “He’s done something, Peter’s done something to mess with your-” he continued, his voice growing smaller until all that was left was a faint echo, and then nothing but static.

And Martin was alone again, with nothing but his thoughts and fears for company, just as the Lonely intended.

Martin just closed his eyes, and listened to the static.

* * *

There was a loud noise, and the echo crashed through the Lonely like a tidal wave. And somehow, Martin knew it was Peter Lukas; and that he was dead. 

He heard the crunch of a shoe against the hard sandy gravel on the ground, and Martin looked up. There he was again. 

Jon was less shadowy this time, like Peter’s death and whatever Jon had done to cause it had thinned out the fog, washed away some of the opaque barrier between them. 

“Martin?” Jon said, and his voice still echoed. “He’s gone, Martin, he’s gone.”

“His only wish was to die alone,” Martin said, and tried to place a feeling onto the knowledge that Peter Lukas was dead, that he was gone and Martin would never see him again. He was sure he should feel something, like an empty spot in the middle of his chest. The knowledge of feeling was there, but all Martin actually felt was a numb, detached emptiness. 

“Tough.” Jon said. “Listen to me, Martin listen.” And there was enough weight to his words- almost like a memory of all the times Martin heard him compel an answer out of someone- that Martin looked up. If he squinted, he could almost make out the shadows of Jon’s face from behind the cool white fog.

Almost.

“Hello, Jon.”

“Listen,” Jon said again, “I know you think you want to be here, I know you think it’s safer and- well, maybe it is.” He admitted, his voice going softer, and for a second, it almost lost the weight that was keeping Martin listening. “But we need you,” Jon continued after a beat. Pushing against and through the overwhelming whispers of the Lonely. _ “I need you.” _

And for a moment, Martin almost believed him.

“No,” he said, “you don’t. Not really.” Jon had never really needed him, after all. He’d only ever been a nuisance, a hindrance to him. He’d spent the last three years in an awkward haze, doing everything he could to help Jon in any way possible. Every time, hoping against hope that this was the time Jon would look and really _ see _him. But by the time Jon tried to come to him, it was too late. He had died, and Martin had joined Peter, and Jon kept going without Martin anyway. “Everyone’s alone, but we all survive-”

“I don’t just want to _survive,”_ Jon uttered desperately, and _ oh. _

_ Oh. _

“I’m sorry,” Martin said. It was the only thing left to say.

“Martin.” Jon said, his voice firm and heavy with the weight of his Archivist voice. “Martin, look at me,” he compelled. Martin didn’t know he could do that here. “Look at me, and tell me what you see.” 

The thin shadow of Jon lowered to the ground, as though it was kneeling in front of Martin, and got closer. The fog stretched over him, the outline of Jon growing darker and more distinct as the fog became more and more translucent. 

Slowly, Martin realized he felt Jon’s eyes on him. The familiar heat of Beholding’s watching eye bore down on him, and it was unnerving, yes. But it was also familiar. 

And then, Martin could see Jon’s eyes burning through the last vestiges of the cold white fog, watching him with the same certainty and constancy as he always did. 

“I see…” Martin started, “I see _ you, _ Jon.” The rest of the fog burned away all at once, and there he was. His Jon. Tired and scarred and kneeling on the dirty flat earth and watching Martin with a breathtaking kind of focus. He saw Jon’s anger, his fear, all his doubts and insecurities. Martin saw Jon’s faith- in himself, in the Eye, in Martin. He saw all of the pain and horror and trauma and joy and tension and fear of their shared history, stretched out between them, as thin and strong as spiders’ webs. Martin’s breath caught in his chest as he took his first deep breath since entering the Lonely, and he could smell Jon- tea and ink and dust- and he reached out to touch him.

Martin’s fingers brushed Jon’s sharp cheek as he met his inscrutable gaze. _ “I see you.” _

“Martin,” Jon breathed, and then he was leaning forward, his arms tight around Martin’s body, and pulling him close against him. Martin took a shuddering breath and pressed his face against where Jon’s neck met his shoulder as everything poured over him all at once. All the fear and guilt and worry and love the Lonely had washed away- all coming back in a single tidal wave force. 

“I was on my own,” he sobbed, his hands clutching at the back of Jon’s shoulders. Jon was warm and solid under his hands and _ god, _ Martin hadn’t realized how cold he was until now. “I was all on my own,” he mumbled again, and Martin wasn’t really sure whether he was talking about his time inside the Lonely, or his time _ outside _of it. 

“Not anymore.” Jon’s voice was gentle, but left no room for argument. Martin understood what he meant- _I’m here now, I wasn’t before but I am here now and I’m not going anywhere, I’m not going to leave you behind._ Martin swallowed another sob and Jon squeezed him tightly one last time. “Come on,” He said quietly, pulling away from Martin slowly, but taking one hand in his own. “Let’s go home.” He sounded sad, but certain, and his hand was warm in Martin’s.

“How?” He asked, and followed Jon to his feet. The fog was still thick and opaque around them, though he saw Jon as clearly now as he ever had.

“Don’t worry,” Jon squeezed his hand comfortingly, and smiled softly. “I know the way.”

And Martin trusted that he did.

Together, they walked through the fog, the power of Jon’s gaze blazing a path through the thick white clouds that floated ominously around them. Side by side, they walked through the Lonely, their clasped hands a point of warm, constant contact between them.

Martin realized he couldn’t hear the static anymore, that had once seemed so loud that he could hear nothing else. But not anymore. Now, all he could hear was the sound of Jon’s heart beating beside him, its gentle rhythm echoing out into the vast silence around him.

And for the first time in what felt like years, Martin felt himself smile.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! please let me know if there's anything i can improve here, especially since this is my first fic for TMA or jonmartin and i'd really like to do them both justice! I'm on tumblr at @grasslandgirl if you want to reach me there to talk about this fic, the newest episode, or just jonmartin Feels, and i'm always accepting ideas and prompts for fics, so if you have any ideas PLEASE feel free to send them over to me! i really enjoyed this episode and writing this as a response to it (i'm sure I'm not the only one doing it kvkvjvkjfk) so thank you so so so so much for reading!


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